


The Stars That Light the Way

by Anonymous



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Jyn Erso is a Force user
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 06:22:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29771991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Jyn inherited the ability to touch the Force from her grandmother.  Some things it doesn't change at all--a child seeing Krennic for the monster he's becoming doesn't impact much.  Some things it changes dramatically, but Cassian is used to dealing with missions that go sideways.
Relationships: Cassian Andor & Jyn Erso & Chirrut Îmwe & K-2SO & Baze Malbus & Bodhi Rook
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2
Collections: Five Figure Fanwork Exchange 2020





	The Stars That Light the Way

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skatzaa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skatzaa/gifts).



> I absolutely *adored* the idea of a Jyn with Force powers AU, and I hope I've tackled it in a way that you enjoy! Thank you so much for such a fun prompt!

_The Stars That Light The Way_

Jyn doesn't hate Orson Krennic the first time she sees him.

He isn't a good man even then. Two year old Jyn doesn't have the words to explain what she sees when she looks at people, but she knows that some people shine and some people don't; some people are black holes that hurt to look at and scare her to stand near, and most people aren't.

Krennic is a little darker than most people. He certainly doesn't shine like her mother usually does, and like her father sometimes appears to when he's actually present with them, actually _focused_ on either Jyn or her mother instead of the work that takes him away so often.

There are little spots of darkness that swarm over Krennic—delve through him, ants seeking a home—but they aren't frightening when Jyn first has to say hello. They are just _there_ , a part of what makes him Krennic, and since her father considers him a friend, Jyn doesn't scream even when the darkness replaces his eyes as he studies her.

Krennic doesn't like her from the beginning. Jyn is acutely aware of that, but she is also aware that Krennic's dislike has little to do with _her_ and a whole lot to do with everything else. Krennic doesn't like anyone who isn't Galen. He tolerates Jyn's mother, and he pretends to tolerate Jyn, but whenever she is near he is awkward and frustrated, and it usually results in the two of them just scowling at each other.

So Jyn stays away from Krennic, and Krennic spends most of his time either away or with her father, and Jyn doesn't get to see the dark spots swell. She isn't able to put them together with Krennic's promotions, and even if she could have, she wouldn't have been able to put those promotions together with the politics of what is happening in the galaxy around them. Children have little understanding of empires and politicians, though they're usually among the first to die when the bombs fall and the food rationing begins.

When Jyn turns four, her parents throw a party in celebration. There are a handful of children invited, pretty much all of them the children of her parent's coworkers. Jyn doesn't know any of them, but she doesn't mind sharing her cake with them, and she appreciates the presents she gets.

She appreciates more that her father is actually _there_ , his eyes watching her every move, a smile on his face and a bright glow emanating from him that feels like a warm hug.

She's busy showing her father how good she is at doing cartwheels when another man walks into the room, and Jyn freezes.

Krennic has never been a nice man, but this is the first time Jyn learns that men can become monsters.

He watches her with a smile, but she knows that he doesn't see _her_. She can feel his cold calculation, and images flash before her eyes—a cell, boots, a fist in her hair.

She starts screaming.

Her father is at her side immediately, her mother not far behind him. They ask her what's wrong. They ask her what they can do.

They take her away from the party, into their bedroom, where there are walls between them and the rest of their guests. They stroke her hair, and her mother removes the kyber crystal that she always wears on a necklace and presses it to Jyn's chest.

“What is it, stardust?” Galen's hand is gentle as it cups Jyn's cheek.

“He's bad.” Jyn can feel tears starting to gather in her eyes again, and she tries to blink them away. Her words are the barest whisper. “He's so _bad_ , papa. He wants—he wants—” Jyn gulps in a breath, her voice falling to the barest whisper. “He wants to hurt me.”

Her father freezes, his hand still on her cheek. He looks across Jyn's small body to Lyra before returning his eyes to Jyn. “Who does?”

“Krennic.” It's all Jyn can do to force the one word out of her mouth, and she shivers as she does.

Her father's hand falls from her cheek, and he turns away from her.

Jyn reaches for him, feeling the air around him grow heavy—not with the denial she had feared, but with an agitation she has no name for, a frantic, desperate energy. “I'm sorry, Papa. I shouldn't say that, I know, I shouldn't—”

Her mother gathers Jyn into her arms, and even though it's not what she wants, Jyn takes the comfort happily as she watches her father continue to pace.

“Galen—” Lyra's voice is more strained than Jyn is used to, though she continues to shine steadily in Jyn's sight, and her hands are gentle as she holds Jyn.

“I know.” Her father stops moving, though the energy gathered around him doesn't dissipate. “We have our plans.”

Jyn looks between her parents, not understanding.

Galen moves to kneel in front of Jyn again, one hand on either of her cheeks, holding her gaze with his. “What did he do to make you say what you did, Jyn? Not that I don't believe you—I do, stardust, I believe you always—but _how_ do you know?”

Jyn sniffles, the images still bright and sharp in her head. “I _saw_ it. He's a monster now, and I saw what he wants to do with me.”

Galen turns to Lyra. “Your grandmother's...?”

Lyra nods slowly. “I told you it was a possibility. Though given the state of the galaxy right now...”

Her father lets out a shuddering breath, and lowers his head so that his forehead touches Jyn's. “We're going to keep you safe. I promise you that. All right?”

Jyn nods, because of _course_ they will keep her safe. They always have before, after all.

Her parents coax her back out into the party, telling her to just steer clear of Krennic while her father talks with him. Jyn has no problem complying with that request—if she never has to talk to Krennic again, she will be very happy.

They leave Coruscant two weeks later, and Jyn meets Saw Gerrera for the first but not the last time.

***

“This is so _boring_.” Jyn allows her body to fall back against the rocky slope, pouting up at her mother.

“I know, but it's _important_.” Lyra settles down next to Jyn, reaching out to touch the kyber crystal that still hangs around Jyn's neck. “I know things are quiet here—too quiet for my bright little girl—but there's no guarantee they always will be. I need you to be prepared to handle crowds if we need to run.”

“I handled crowds just fine when I was little.” Jyn pouts, knowing that her mother _still_ considers her little even at eight years old.

“You saw things that no one else did, felt things that no one else felt.” Lyra's finger manages to poke Jyn's nose despite Jyn's attempt to dodge. “You're our special little girl, and I need you to be prepared to handle that.”

“I don't understand why no one else sees what I see.” Jyn picks up a stone and skips it down the slope, watching it kick up little puffs of dust and spurts of pollen.

“I shouldn't say _no one_ can see it.” Lyra scoots closer to Jyn, their hips touching. “There used to be a lot of people who could see and feel what you can see and feel, as well as so much more. They were called the Jedi.”

Jyn frowns. “I've heard some people whisper about them. Aren't they all gone? Haven't they all _been_ gone?”

Lyra's hand rises, her fingers threading their way through Jyn's hair. “They haven't been gone for that long, though time can get... strange, depending on where you are in the galaxy. And how old you are. And what else is going on around you.”

Jyn doesn't need her ability to sense people's emotions to notice her mother's melancholy, and she leans against the older woman. “What happened to them?”

“I'm not entirely sure. I think...” Lyra's voice cracks. “I think the same people we're running from—the people who want your father to help them make terrible weapons—I think they arranged for the Jedi to be killed. To try to keep anyone from organizing a resistance against them.”

“Well _that_ didn't work.” Jyn snorts. “Saw's not a Jedi, and he's resisting them plenty.”

“You're right about that.” Lyra kisses the top of Jyn's head.

Jyn considers. “Does that mean _I'll_ have to resist them? If I have power like a Jedi's?”

Lyra goes very still, and Jyn reaches out to sense her emotions. They're a tight, controlled swirl, her mother trying to hold herself steady for Jyn's benefit, but Jyn can still pick out fear and hope and an all-consuming love. “When you're old enough to know what you're choosing, it will be up to you to find the best way to make the galaxy a better place.”

Jyn nods. It's what she's been told before, and she's never doubted the truth of the sentiment, even if her understanding of what it might _mean_ changes each time she hears it. Will she fight with Saw? Will she stay here and keep her father safe? What would that even _mean_? “Why are the Jedi scarier to them than people like Saw?”

“Because the Jedi could do amazing, impossible things.” Her mother's fingers resume their journey through Jyn's hair, and she leans into the touch. “Not just sense things, like you can. They could affect how people saw the world. They could change the world itself—move things with their minds, move _themselves_ in ways that wouldn't be possible for most of us.”

Jyn shivers as she imagines Saw fighting people who could do _that_. “Can I manage that, too?”

“I don't know.” Lyra abruptly withdraws her hand. “Which is why we're working on meditation, and seeing what I can teach you on my own. Come on, my little comet. You want to try walking or sitting meditation this time?”

Jyn groans, but levers herself to her feet and follows her mother, trying to listen to the soothing sound of her mother's words and separate the world into its component parts—Jyn, Lyra, everything else.

She's getting better at it, and hopefully that means she'll be able to do what her mother needs her to do when the time comes.

***

Jyn almost kills Krennic after her mother fails.

She doesn't intend to do it. She just _acts_ , screaming as she pushes back against the feeling of loss that is threatening to overwhelm everything else.

Her mother was _right there_. Her mother was a bright and shining point, a star that Jyn could navigate by, and then... nothing. Emptiness.

Her mother is _dead_ , and Krennic is the reason.

She draws attention to herself. She also scares the people with Krennic. She can _feel_ their fear, their confusion about who is causing dust and grass and other small items to spin up into the air.

Their fear doesn't keep them from turning towards her.

Doesn't keep _Krennic_ from turning towards her, and though she can feel his pain—though she knows she can _lean_ on that pain, distract him for a bit—she can also feel his determination.

He wants her father.

He wants _her_ to die, just like her mother.

Jyn throws up a hand towards him, leaning hard on the pain that she can feel, amplifying it as much as she can.

Krennic screams, clutching his shoulder.

But he also gives orders. He sends his soldiers after her.

She can't fight them all. There are too many minds, too many _blasters_ , and she is just one child.

One child who can't even break the mind of the man who killed her mother and is stealing her father away.

Jyn runs, as her mother told her to. She runs, and she cries, and she _pushes_ with her power, trying to turn everyone's attention away from her. It's what her mother would tell her to do. It's what her _father_ would tell her to do, because she felt his fear and sorrow, too.

This is not how any of this was supposed to go.

Nobody finds her. She hides in the dark, just as she is supposed to, and she cries silently into the pack that contains all her worldly possessions, and nobody finds her for a long, long time.

When Saw finally pulls her from the darkness, she clings hard to his hand—clings hard to the sense of his _life_ , knowing that it can be so, so easily thrown away in the darkness.

***

“I can't keep her.” Saw's voice is as regretful as his thoughts.

Jyn closes her eyes, keeping her focus tight on the breaths of air that she's teasing towards herself. She needs to hear this conversation, though she knows none of the adults in the room next door want her to.

“I don't know why you think _we'll_ take her.” This man's voice is deep and gruff. “We haven't exactly had great dealings in the past.”

“We're more or less on the same side, and I don't know what else to do. I don't know anyone else who may know how to help her. Not who'd be able to take her, at least.” Saw pauses, and she can hear the familiar cadence of his feet. “She can't control what she does. Her mother taught her just enough to be dangerous to everyone around her, without teaching her enough to be dangerous to our actual enemies.”

“What's been happening?” This man's voice is less rough and gruff than either Saw's or the first stranger's.

“She has nightmares, and everyone shares them. She gets angry, and things go wrong. Little things, just little things, but when you're working with weapons all the time, little things can be disastrous.” Saw draws in a slow, deep breath. “And she's afraid. Whenever we're facing the Imperials, she's afraid, and her fear is contagious.”

“She's a child who watched her mother murdered and her father stolen by Imperials. Of course she's afraid.” The quieter man speaks as though this is perfectly reasonable and not a terrible failing.

“Projecting that paralyzing fear onto others _isn't_.” Saw's hand collides with his thigh, a familiar meaty thump displaying his frustration. “I told her parents I would keep her safe, and I _want_ to do that. And I told _her_ I would help her fight, help her get her revenge. I want to do that, too. But I can't work with her like this.”

Jyn hugs her pack a little tighter to her chest. She's been _trying_. She's been trying _so hard_ , but it's so very hard to manage everything. She wants to be helpful. She's _been_ helpful. She be quiet and unseen in ways nobody expects. She can deflect attention from herself. She's retrieved information and planted bombs and saved some of his people. She's done everything Saw asks of her, and she's _trying—_

A man settles down next to her, his backside thumping against the crate that Jyn is perched atop.

She startles, looking over at him, and then blinks again, peering more closely. There's something wrong with his eyes. And there's a box attached to his hip that's doing... something. Sending out waves of energy, getting them back, and doing... what?

The man smiles. “You really are quite sensitive, aren't you? How much of that did you hear?”

Jyn swallows, allowing her control of the air in the vicinity to drop. “I don't know what you mean.”

“Truly? Then you're even more talented than Saw led me to believe.” The man holds out a hand, his eyes not quite meeting hers. “My name is Chirrut. This is the custom with your people still, right?”

Jyn hesitates and then places her hand in his. “Jyn Erso. One of Saw's partisans.”

Chirrut nods, as though he meets children claiming to be rebel soldiers all the time. “Do you know what Saw wishes from us?”

“He wants to get rid of me.” Jyn hugs her pack tight again. “Because I can't control myself.” Tears prick at her eyes, and she forces herself to breathe, forces the moisture to stop gathering. “Because I'm just a danger.”

“No one is ever _just_ a danger, as no one is ever _just_ helpless, or _just_ safe.” Chirrut leans forward, both his hands on a staff that is planted firmly on the floor in front of him. “All people have the ability to be safe and dangerous, friend and foe. All are one in the Force, and the Force is with us. Have you been taught much about the Force?”

Jyn shakes her head, then realizes that the man might not be able to see the movement properly. “A little. My mother believed in it. Said that's what I was tapping into when I could sense stuff. She made me do a lot of meditation to try to control my powers. She said... she said I was like the Jedi used to be.”

“The Jedi are dead.” The loud, angry man can move quite silently, but he carries rage and grief beside himself in a pummeling wave.

Jyn pulls back, slipping off her crate and sliding her pack on her back. If she needs to run... she doesn't know anything about Jedha, but Saw has taught her how to survive in all sorts of situations. An Imperial-occupied desert land doesn't scare her.

Not more than anything else does, at least.

“Baze.” The man with the staff taps it against the ground, a clear sign of exasperation. “What does scaring the girl accomplish?”

“What does talking to her manage?” Baze crosses his arms over his chest. He's wearing scraps of armor cobbled together into something that Jyn knows would be quite functional. “We can't take her. We can't _teach_ her.”

“Nobody can.” The words are bitter on Jyn's tongue. “And I never _asked_ you to even try.”

“Jyn.” The blind man stands up, holding a hand out towards her. “My name is Chirrut, if you haven't heard. And I do think that I can teach you.”

“You're no Jedi.” Baze stomps up beside his smaller friend, and Jyn has to blink rapidly to keep the rage and grief from overwhelming her and bringing tears to her eyes. “You're just a stubborn old man.”

“Neither of us are all _that_ old, no matter how you feel.” Chirrut reaches out with the hand he isn't extending to her, placing it on Baze's arm. “And this is someone we _can_ help, I'm certain of it.”

Baze closes his eyes, not looking at her, not looking at Chirrut. “This won't bring the Temple back. It won't protect the Kyber. It won't bring the Jedi back, or—”

“Did I ever say that it would?” Chirrut's words are incredibly gentle despite the way he slides them between Baze's like a well-thrust knife.

Baze goes silent, his breath hard and fast in his chest.

Saw has come into the room, too—is standing behind the two Jedhan men, his eyes fixed on Jyn.

Chirrut steps forward, his fingers peeling away from Baze's arm at the last possible moment. He moves unerringly towards Jyn, and she distracts herself from the uncertainty of the moment by studying Chirrut's box and trying to figure out how it works. It's producing... sound, maybe? And receiving it? And channeling those received inputs up to—

Chirrut kneels in front of her, both his hands out. “What is it that _you_ want, Jyn Erso? In all the world, in all the galaxy, among all the stars, what sings in your heart?”

Jyn fixes her eyes on Chirrut's face, her mouth sealed shut. She can't say it. No one wants to hear her say it.

Except... he does. He is so still, so silent, so _attentive_ , and it's hard to sense beneath Baze and Saw's bright anger and hurt, but Chirrut... he really, truly wants to hear what she has to say. He is so focused on that, so focused on _her_ , that nothing else stains the world around him.

Jyn lays one of her dirt-smeared hands in his calloused one. “I want my family back. And I want to make the people who took them—” _Krennic_ , the man her father cared for once, and his name _burns_ even just in her mind, causes dust to swirl up around them. “I want to make them pay.”

Chirrut draws in a long breath, his fingers curling gently around hers.

Baze steps closer, and some of his own anger and grief have been pushed aside by a mixture of curiosity and wonder. “Still think we need to take her in?”

Chirrut's thumb strokes over her fingers. “Do you think we have any other choice?”

“There's always a choice. You're stupidly fond of saying that, remember?” Baze sighs, and turns so that he's facing Saw. “We'll take her. We'll train her. Where she goes from there... that's up to her.”

“Of course.” Saw inclines his head, and Jyn watches his expression close down even as her sense of him fades. He doesn't want anyone to know what he's feeling right now. “Are you all right with that, Jyn? With staying here, with these people, and learning?”

Jyn doesn't want to lose her family again. She doesn't want to let Saw go back to his fighters and leave her here. But she understands why he's doing it, and if she can learn to use her skills—if she can become an actual useful part of the rebellion—then she knows he'll welcome her back. “I'll stay with them as long as I need to, and when I'm good I'll come back. I promise.”

Saw walks over to her, his limping, familiar gait ringing in her ears. His arms close around her, and he hugs her tight. “You get yourself sorted out first, girl. Then we'll see what you can do for the wider world around you.”

Jyn clings to him for as long as he lets her, and when he pulls free she lets him go.

At least she knows this goodbye will only last as long as it takes her to become the weapon Saw needs.

***

“I know you dislike this.” Chirrut smiles as he slides a cup of tea towards her.

Jyn takes it and sips, trying not to grimace. “I don't _dislike_ it, I just... my mother worked on trying to teach me meditation for a long time. And I get it. It just doesn't _work_.”

“If it doesn't work, then we haven't found the right type of meditation for you.” Chirrut sighs as he sips his own tea, clearly relishing the flavor.

Jyn finds herself reaching for his emotions, trying and failing to read them. It's not that they aren't present; it's that they're... _neat_ , kept close and organized and controlled in a way that most people's aren't.

Chirrut's head tilts slightly. “What is it you're trying to do when you do that?”

Jyn's eyes widen, and she considers lying. If this man is going to teach her, though, then he needs to know. “I'm trying to see what you think. No—what you _feel_. About me, and the situation. I can for most people. But not for you.”

Chirrut nods, as though this makes perfect sense. “Will you forgive me if I start with the basics in your teaching? I don't want to bore you, but I don't know what you've been taught and what you haven't been.”

“It's not like I can stop you either way.” Jyn shrugs.

“No, but if I lose your interest then I am failing at my task.” Chirrut sets his teacup down and reaches for hers, lining the two of them up. “Most people consider the Jedi's power to be twofold. The first power is that the Jedi can control their own and other's perceptions, reaching out to influence those who aren't aware enough of their minds to prevent it as well as amplifying the Jedi's own senses.”

Jyn nods. “I'm good at some of that.”

“The second power is influencing the physical world. The Jedi can move mountains without lifting a finger, fly impossible routes, and move their bodies in ways even the greatest athletes struggle to match.” Chirrut covers both teacups. “Separating out these two sets of abilities is where we fail to grasp exactly what it is that the Jedi _do_.”

Jyn frowns.

“The Jedi aren't reaching into two different toolboxes.” Chirrut uncovers both cups. “What they're doing is recognizing that all things—inside our minds, outside our minds—are connected. They are connected by the living and the dead; by the good and the bad; by what is seen and what is not. By the light and the dark.”

“I don't understand.”

“These appear separate right now, yes?” Chirrut gestures to the two cups of tea.

Jyn frowns, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“But if you consider a universe that is _made_ of tea, that has tea everywhere instead of air... then these two cups would just be dips in the potential. Patterns of probability.” Chirrut gently nudges her cup back towards Jyn. “It's not separate abilities, it's just recognizing how the Force flows through everything. You're already quite talented at dipping into one cup; you just need to recognize that same flow into the other.”

Jyn tries very hard to keep her breathing steady, to not let the frustration that she feels show in her tense muscles or the way she shifts.

It doesn't work. It _never_ works with Chirrut. He smiles, lifting his own glass. “Why don't you go train with Baze again?”

Jyn scrambles to her feet, eager to trade this training for one that she understands better—for one where she feels she's actually making _advances_.

Not that Baze would admit that. The big man tries to avoid her half the time, while the other half of the time he's a large, silent shadow scowling at everything she and Chirrut do. Jyn is starting to see the shape of the relationship between the two Guardians, the love and history and shared grief that binds them as surely as any shackles.

She's still trying to figure out how she can possibly fit into that relationship—if it even _is_ possible. Perhaps this is just another stop-over, another place she will not be able to take root despite trying hard.

Baze looks up from the screen he's reading when she comes in. He has a stylus tucked behind his ear, and he moves it to lay across the dark screen as he studies her. “Ready for another round of getting your ass kicked?”

Jyn lifts her chin, glaring up into his eyes. “You're just afraid I'm going to drop you one of these days.”

“You keep dreaming, little one.” Baze hauls himself to his feet, shrugging his shoulders to loosen the muscles. “Do you want to do some forms first, or—”

Jyn launches herself at him, hoping to take him by surprise and actually pull him off balance.

It doesn't work. Baze is fast as well as big, which is distinctly unfair. He ducks to the right, placing just two fingers against her shoulder and sending her tumbling towards the ground.

Jyn ducks and rolls, coming up and launching herself at Baze again.

She enjoys these exercises, even if they're draining and difficult. After she tries for a few minutes, Baze will start calling out her mistakes, helping her to strengthen both her offense and her defense.

_He_ enjoys these times, too, though there is always, always a tinge of sadness and rage to what she senses off him. He did this for other children once, she thinks. He was a _good_ teacher, and he is a good teacher for her now, and the Empire who stole his place and his children away has made even this pleasure into pain.

She understands that. It echoes deep inside her, and she thinks, during these exercises, that perhaps they can find a balance. Perhaps they can help each other. Perhaps—

His legs sweep out, tumbling her feet out from under her. Jyn rolls again, throwing herself back into the rhythm of the battle. Shutting off her thoughts, just moving in response to how he moves, and opening herself as her mother and Chirrut have both told her to.

At first nothing happens. At first it doesn't _change_ anything, and that's all right. It's enough to just exist, to just _feel_ , to just be acutely aware of her both and Baze's body and Chirrut's body, a bright warm point just inside the doorway.

Then she opens herself to their thoughts, to their emotions, and it colors the whole room. It allows her to predict, just by a split second, what Baze will do.

He will be moving his arm, now.

His leg, there.

If something were to tug on the back of his shirt, as Chirrut sometimes does and as he sometimes does to her—

It happens almost without her consciously willing it to. A pull here will _unbalance_ him, she knows. It needs to happen.

It _does_ happen.

Baze gives a startled yelp as he falls, spinning even before his bulk is down to look for whoever has interrupted their game.

There is no one there, of course. There's just Jyn, grinning even as her whole body starts to tremble with unexpected fatigue.

Chirrut begins clapping. “Well done, Jyn.”

Baze blinks up at her, hair falling into his face. “That was—”

Jyn holds out a hand to him. “I'm not as useless as I look, huh, big brother?”

Baze's fingers close carefully over hers, and he rises to his feet. “I never claimed you were useless, little sister.”

A moment later Jyn is on her back on the floor, Baze kneeling next to her, both her hands locked in his fists.

“And you still have a lot to learn.” He releases his hold. “But for now... for your age... that was incredible.”

“Not many properly trained Jedi could do what you just did. Not at your age.” Chirrut makes his way out to them, staff gliding gently across the ground. “You should be proud of yourself.”

Jyn wipes sweaty hair away from her face. “I need to learn more. I need to be _better_.”

Chirrut reaches out, his hand touching Baze's shoulder. Baze looks over at Chirrut, and Jyn knows that something is passing between the two of them. There is a marked increase in tension, but she can't tell why or what caused it.

Then Baze sighs. “We'll teach you what we're able to. And that includes how to be a normal child. Or at least as normal as anyone can be in this damned city.”

Jyn grins. That's more than she can ask for, and everything she wants. Her fingers close around the kyber crystal on her chest, and she can almost feel her mother's fingers brushing through her hair.

Jyn may not be a Jedi, but she will do her best to be the hero all her families need.

***

Jyn starts working with Saw again when she's fifteen years old.

She wanted to start sooner; Baze and Chirrut wanted her to wait longer; Saw was willing to take her on as soon as she thought she could control herself.

The arrangement they come to isn't what Jyn expected. Instead of heading off with Saw and his band on her own, she finds herself accompanied by the two Guardians. Baze grumbles about it the whole time, though when Jyn points out that he didn't _have_ to come he just glares at her until she stops speaking.

Chirrut seems cheerful about the whole thing, but Chirrut usually takes any perturbations in their life with equanimity.

It doesn't take long for Jyn to understand _why_ the Guardians decided to accompany her. Saw has never been a soft or gentle man. Even without her ability to sense others, Jyn would have known that. But he is growing harder and more desperate with each passing year, and some of the things he asks her to do...

She understands that they need to fight. She has understood it from the moment her mother stood up and tried to murder Orson Krennic. She understands that if no one fights, everyone will lose—well, everyone who _matters_. Because Krennic is more monster than man now, and Jyn thinks everyone who serves the Empire must be just like him.

She's disabused of that notion quickly enough.

There are monsters among the people they fight. Jyn doesn't hesitate to kill them, though she feels a _tug_ in her core each time she does.

But there are also just... people. People who die thinking of their families. People who beg for their lives. For every person who hides cruelty behind the masks they don, there is another who either doesn't see another way or doesn't _understand_ what they're doing. At least... doesn't understand well enough for Jyn to be happy when their lives snuff out, little flashes of pain in the vastness of the universe.

During missions Baze is practically glued to her side, the big man offering protection that Jyn doesn't really need. After missions, Chirrut stays close to her. He doesn't push her to talk. He's just _there_ , a welcome, open presence that Jyn can sink into when everything else starts to become too much.

“We have to do this, right?” Jyn asks the question of the fire, but she knows Chirrut hears her.

“That's not something I can answer.” Chirrut's words are so soft the crackling of burning wood almost drowns them out. “We have to do _something_. Does that something have to involve what we've chosen? Perhaps not. Is it helping matters? I think so. Is it what the Force wills? We all try to find that path for ourselves. Saw would believe it is, though I think any faith he had has long since been burned away.”

“It doesn't hurt when we're fighting.” Jyn grips her mother's kyber crystal tight. “It's just... the way things are. Because I would rather they die than any of our people. But after...”

Chirrut's hand falls on her shoulder. “We are not monsters or automata. We feel, and so does our enemy. We shouldn't allow the deaths of those who choose to participate in subjugation destroy us, but we also shouldn't let it become an easy thing. If we do...”

Jyn doesn't need to raise her eyes to know where Chirrut's sightless gaze is pointed. If all that matters is the fight, they will be slowly destroyed, as Saw is being slowly destroyed.

“Will you tell me?” Jyn covers Chirrut's fingers with her own. “If you think I'm becoming a monster?”

“I'll tell you long before then, little sister.” Chirrut squeezes her fingers. “Keeping my tongue when I think things are wrong has never been my strong suit.”

Jyn leans against Chirrut's lean frame, surprised at how close to him in height she is now.

She's growing up.

Hopefully she'll help create a universe where she and everyone she loves can grow old.

***

Saw and the Guardians fight frequently about the missions that Jyn's sent on.

Jyn mostly stays out of it. She doesn't like it when the three of them are arguing, and she can see both sides of the conflict.

She's still relieved that the Guardians win more times than not, and she's not asked to do _too_ many things that she knows will be difficult.

She starts to develop a reputation. The other partisans call her One-Shot, because that's all she needs to take out an enemy. None of her guardians share the nature of her abilities, and Jyn learned early to keep secrets, but the people she works with aren't stupid. They notice that Jyn is able to do the impossible, and they love her for it.

She loves them in return, even though she doesn't want to.

Even though it _hurts_ , so much, to watch them die again and again and again.

It's not _usually_ when they're with her. When Jyn's on a mission, there's a high probability of everyone coming back more or less in one piece. But Jyn doesn't go out on all the missions—it wouldn't be physically possible even if they were all morally acceptable—and for every person who joins it seems another one dies.

She doesn't talk with Saw about the deaths. She knows that he feels each one, and she knows that he tries desperately hard _not_ to feel each one—tries to blame the Empire and the war and sometimes even the dead people themselves, because otherwise guilt would devour him alive.

She talks a little bit about it with Baze. For all that Baze is still a walking well of anger and grief, he seems more... in control of his grief than Saw is. Or perhaps it's just that he's usually by Chirrut, and Chirrut helps to keep _everyone_ in control.

“It's the way of things, unfortunately. When you're trying to change a broken system, people are going to get hurt.” Baze speaks the words to his cannon, though he enunciates clearly enough for Jyn to hear him easily. “People are going to die. It's just a matter of deciding if it's better for some to die fighting than for whatever atrocities are occurring to continue.”

Jyn watches Baze, her knees drawn up to her chest. “You like the fighting.”

Baze doesn't hesitate. “I like it better than the alternative. You know what the Empire took from me.”

Jyn nods. She still doesn't know the details—neither of the Guardians will give her the details—but she knows that the Empire took everything from them in order to open a kyber mine where their ancient temple had been.

“I like the idea that we'll be able to stop them. To hurt the people who decided to do... what they did.” Baze pauses, his breathing falling into an even, regular pattern. “I don't think there's a plan. I don't think the Force is going to ensure we win. I don't know if the Force _cares_ , though I guess _something_ exists that lets you do the things you do.”

“Whether the Force does or not, _I_ care.” Jyn slides her hand over, covering Baze's. “I just want to do what's best. For...” The word _family_ sticks in her throat, as it has ever since her father was spirited away and her mother's body was left behind.

“I know, little sister.” Baze draws her into a one-armed hug, her head against the armor plate protecting his chest. “And I think you're doing the best anyone could do. The only easy answer is to give in, and that...” Baze bares his teeth, and Jyn can feel the spike as he intentionally stokes his grief into rage. “Isn't really one I can tolerate.”

“Me, either.” Jyn steers the conversation to lighter topics, then, culminating in a bout of fighting that helps pull Baze back to his usual self.

Talking with Chirrut results in a very different conversation, which isn't unusual.

“Grief is a part of life. It's a reminder of the cycle we are all an inescapable part of—living and dying, arising out of the Force and fading back into it. The fact that so many have been facing so much grief isn't normal, but it's not unnatural. Just cruel. Immoral.”

“And that makes it all right for us to fight? For us to keep sending people out even when they don't come back?” Jyn doesn't mean to press the point, but she feels like she's on the verge of understanding something.

“Right and wrong are very mortal concepts. The Force is light and dark; life, preservation, peace, and rage, despair, conflict.” Chirrut's hand reaches out, resting atop hers. “What we have to be most concerned about with you, little sister, is making sure you don't forget the light. For someone who can touch the Force, drowning in the darkness is far more dangerous than anything else. The amount of harm you could to yourself and others is nearly incalculable.”

“I'm not going to lose myself.” Jyn can hear the petulance in her own voice, the childishness, and forces herself to calm.

“I don't think you will. I think you've already faced trials that could have broken some, and you've come out of it strong enough to love still.” Chirrut's hand rises, trailing up her arm to cup her cheek as her father once did. “I share your grief for the ones who don't come home. But they choose this life and this fight, and it is a fight that needs to happen. If we don't fight it, our children will. It is not one that can be put off forever. Morality may be a mortal concept, but it's an important one.”

Jyn leans against Chirrut's side, her head on his shoulder. His robes are soft and welcoming, well-worn from months of cleaning. “You'll tell me if you think I'm doing something wrong?”

“Always. And if I don't do it fast enough, Baze will do it for me.” Chirrut's fingers slide through her hair. “You have us on your side, Jyn. I swear that.”

Jyn nods, closing her eyes and breathing in time to Chirrut's steady rhythm.

People live; people die.

The fight continues, and she intends to be in it to the very end.

***

“Thank you.” Marco smiles at her, an expression that softens his features and makes him even more handsome than he already is. “You saved my life.”

“Don't worry about it.” Jyn shouldn't be as flustered by this man's attentions as she is. “I've saved the lives of half the people here.”

“Well...” Marco's accent thickens. “I'm honored to be one of them. And if I could be allowed to give you thanks...”

Jyn doesn't move as Marco moves closer, closer... and presses his lips to hers, a barely-there kiss that she still feels from her toes to the top of her head.

He smiles when he breaks away, and waves as he wanders off, deep into the complex that the partisans call home when they're not away on a mission.

Jyn touches her lips, smiling to herself. Perhaps things are going to be different with this one. Pulling her canteen out, she debates taking a drink. She'll remember the soft feel of his lips, though. She's sure of it.

Sure enough that allowing herself to get dehydrated would be utter foolishness, so she finally raises the canteen to her mouth.

“I don't think he's who he claims to be.”

Jyn startles, almost dropping her canteen. She glances back at Chirrut, annoyed but not surprised that he managed to sneak up on her. “What?”

“The young man who was just talking with you. He isn't what he claims to be.”

Jyn can feel her face burn. The young man in question joined Saw's people two weeks ago, and he's been flirting with Jyn shamelessly for the last week. She hasn't exactly been encouraging him—he's older than her, she thinks, which isn't uncommon—but she hasn't been _discouraging_ him, either. Too many of the partisans see her as off-limits either because she's Saw's ward or because she's their not-quite-a-Jedi, their good luck charm that they don't want to tarnish. “What's wrong with Marco?”

“He follows you. He watches you.” Chirrut sounds regretful. “Not like a man with a crush, which I know is what he's been presenting to you. Like a man with a mission. I think he's a spy.”

Jyn feels the world drop out from under her feet.

He wouldn't be the first spy who's come to the partisans. Every time they hurt the Empire, the Empire becomes more determined to hurt them in turn. Jyn is usually able to feel them out before they get very far into the organization, though, and with Marco—

With Marco she's been too busy letting herself get distracted by his handsome dark eyes and his soft hair and the way he talks to her like she's someone to desire as a friend and a partner rather than just as a way to keep himself alive against the Empire.

She doesn't wait to ask Chirrut more of what he's seen. If Chirrut approached her, then he's certain. And if he's certain, then Jyn has allowed herself to be made a fool of.

Has allowed herself to be sweet-talked like a child, when she's a nineteen year old woman who should know better. How many years of guerilla warfare tactics is it going to take for her to develop shielding like Baze has, a heart that can't be hurt by all that's going on around them?

Marco is eating with a group of laughing soldiers when Jyn storms up. He watches her with the same expression of confusion that the others wear, not giving anything away.

Throwing out a hand, Jyn uses her gift to haul him from his chair and slam him against the wall. Tapping into her rage, she keeps her hand up, holding him pinned. “Who are you, really?”

“Jyn—” Chirrut's voice comes from just behind her.

Jyn almost but not quite waves a hand in his direction, too. She won't hurt Chirrut or Baze. Spar with them, sure, but she never raises a hand in anger towards them.

She usually doesn't tap into the Force when she's angry, period. Frightened, sure—she's scared a lot on missions, and touching the Force is usually enough to calm herself and let her do what needs to be done. But reaching for it in anger—

Chirrut has instructed her over and over again not to do that. Not to use anger or hatred to fuel her strength, because though they burn bright, they also burn _everything_ , the one using them as well as the one who is using them.

Baze is less sure about the anger, but he, too, tells her to be careful.

She is not being careful now.

She can't sense him. She should have noticed that before Chirrut pointed it out. Marco is sweet and a good talker, but he's also not _there_. He's a silence in the Force, a point of life that Jyn can't read at all. Sometimes that happens with Chirrut, when he's very calm, but there aren't too many other people who can hide themselves so well from Jyn.

There aren't too many people who would even _try_ , not here at their camp.

“Jyn—” Marco claws at the empty air around his neck. His voice is half-strangled, and his feet kick the wall as he struggles with something he simply can't touch. “What—I haven't—”

The other partisans are standing, hands on weapons. None of them have eyes on her. They trust her, and she's grateful for that.

Chirrut lays a hand on Jyn's left shoulder, but his words are for Marco. “We know you aren't what you seem to be. Tell us the truth, and we'll treat you fairly.”

“Jyn, please. I'm not—I'm just—” Marco gasps, feet kicking again as Jyn twitches her fingers.

“Little sister.” Baze's hand falls on her right shoulder. “It's not for you to dirty your hands with spies. If he needs to die, let me do it.”

“I've killed plenty before.” The words come out frost-cold, but Jyn's heart is beating fast in her chest. She's killed, but not like this. Not with premeditated determination... not while the person she intends to kill never lifted a hand against her.

“You have.” Chirrut's fingers walk their way down her arm. “But you shouldn't have had to, and you _don't_ have to now. Nobody has to die today.”

Nobody _has_ to die today, but somebody could.

If Marco is a spy—if he meant to betray them to the Empire—

Jyn takes a step forward. “Tell me your real name and who you're working for. If you don't tell me, I'll rip it from your mind and send the pieces back to your masters with a bow wrapped around them.”

He just stares at her, and his hands stop clawing at his neck. His feet stop kicking. His mouth clamps shut, and he meets her eyes without fear.

It's more than Jyn can bear. How _dare_ he. How dare he let her save his life, let her think he _likes_ her, and then look at her like this. Like she's a monster. Like she's something to be faced, an interrogator droid to be overcome.

She drops him to the ground and pounces on him, burying both her hands in his hair. She's gotten better at manipulating the physical world around her, but what she's always been best at is people. Emotions. Memories.

She rips into his like a blurrg into fresh meat. She needs to understand. She needs to know if they're still _safe_ , if her failure to place what he is has endangered these people she's supposed to protect.

He starts screaming almost immediately.

Jyn joins in mere seconds later.

He hurts _so much_. He's lost so much, been asked to _do_ so much.

He was willing to sacrifice her, if it came to it.

But that's only because he's willing to sacrifice _anything_ if it means bringing down the Empire that has come so close to destroying him—that has ripped away everything he loves.

Jyn is crying when Chirrut pulls her away from the spy. Blood drips from her nose, disappearing into the black of his robes.

“It's all right.” Chirrut rubs her back, his hands sure and steady. “It's all right, Jyn.”

“No.” Jyn laughs, choking on the blood in her mouth as she presses herself against Chirrut's strong frame. She looks over to see that Baze has the spy in an arm lock, though the man isn't fighting. Blood trails from his mouth, his eyes, his nose, his ears, pattering to the floor in a steady stream.

_She_ did that.

She hurt him again, turning her rage and betrayal into a battering ram with which she shattered the supports he used to keep himself stable.

“Don't hurt him.” Jyn tries to stand and finds that she can't. All she can do is hold a shaking hand out towards Baze. “His name is Cassian Andor. He's a spy for the Rebel Alliance, not for... not for the Empire.”

“The Rebel Alliance is not our friend, either.” Saw's voice fills all available space, drawing the attention of the silent soldiers that have been watching matters unfold. “Not if they send spies to undermine us and ferret out our secrets. Take him to a cell.”

Baze hesitates, looking to Chirrut.

Chirrut gives a minute nod, one that Jyn isn't certain anyone but Baze or her would notice.

Then Baze is dragging Cassian away, his hands gentler than they had been a moment ago.

Jyn sags against Chirrut, not daring to look at Saw, not daring to look at anyone else.

They're afraid of her. She can feel it, a soft background hum in the air that hadn't been there before.

She showed them what can happen if she loses control of herself, and the trust she's build between herself and those she fights with, though not shattered, has been damaged.

Closing her eyes, Jyn allows Chirrut to hold her, wondering exactly how long it will take for her to fix this mess.

***

Jyn argues with Saw for hours about what to do with the spy.

Eventually he acquiesces to her request to let her handle him. She hates that he does so because she proved herself more than able to force Cassian's secrets out into the open, but she decides it's better to just accept the win rather than interrogate it further.

Cassian is huddled in the far corner of the cell when she approaches. She doesn't think he was there a moment before—a brush of wind from the cell to her ears brought her the sound of wire in a lock—but he looks the picture of wary misery when she comes into view.

If he were still a dark spot in her sense of the world, this would probably make her mad. Since she can feel his genuine fear of her, it just makes her sad.

“Hello.” She waves, though the gesture feels small and inadequate given what she's done. “I'm... look, I'm sorry.”

“What are you?” His accent is thicker than it usually is, his eyes tracking her like she's a dangerous and unpredictable predator.

“I'm Jyn Erso, which you already know. I'm One-Shot. I'm the partisans' good-luck charm.” Jyn draws a shaking breath. “I think I would have been a Jedi, in a different world. But all the Jedi are dead, so I don't know what I am. A ghost, maybe.”

“You're a very dangerous ghost, if that's the case.” Cassian's wariness fades as she continues to talk with him, and he approaches the bars. “What did you do to me?”

“I don't...” Jyn swallows. “I don't know. Chirrut said that you were a spy, and I... I had to know who for. I had to know that I didn't let the fact that you're handsome make me miss how dangerous you were.”

Cassian chuckles, but it's a dark, weary sound. “I was trying very hard just to make you pay attention to how handsome I am.”

“Yeah, well, it's a cheap ploy, and I'm tempted to say you got what you deserved, but...” Jyn draws a breath. The anger is still there, waiting, offering itself for use. But she remembers too well how she felt in Chirrut's arms afterwards to want to reach for it again right now. “You didn't. Deserve what I did. No one would. I'm sorry.”

He studies her, head tilting slightly. “You really mean that?”

Jyn nods. “I really do. I'm not a monster, Cassian. No more than any of the rest of us who've been forced into the bloody war are.”

“Some of us do become monsters.” Cassian's words are soft. “To win this war, it's going to have to happen.”

Jyn remembers some of what she saw in Cassian's head—people shot in the back, poisoned, with their throats slit. She has to swallow down stomach acid, something that hasn't happened in a long time. “Is that what you want? To be a monster among monsters?”

“Of course not.” His answer is sharp and immediate. “But if some of us have to become monsters, it may as well be the ones who have nothing left to go back to.”

“Is that the only judgment of our worth, then? What we have to go back to?” Jyn knows it's something that the others think about—what they have waiting for them after a mission, what they hope for after a war.

What Jyn has waiting after a mission is the same three people she often has with her on a mission.

What she hopes for after the war... it's been a long time since she's discussed the possibility of an _after_ with anyone. Baze and Saw are both so stuck on _before_ and on _revenge_ that talk of _after_ often isn't possible; though Chirrut _will_ discuss the future, it always seems to come with the caveat that all will be as the Force wills it.

What Jyn wants for the future...

She wants her father back. Her biological father, the one who tried and failed so spectacularly to keep her safe. She wants to find where the Empire stashed him away, and even if it's only bringing his bones home, she wants to do that.

“It matters what we're fighting for. And what we're fighting for often has to do with what we've left behind.” Cassian meets her gaze, and there's a defiance there she hadn't expected, not after what she did to him. “And on what's been taken from us.”

“I won't.” Jyn swallows. “Take anything more from you. But please, promise me—promise me and _mean it—_ that you won't hurt any of the people here. They're under my protection.”

“It's not my job to hurt people who are fighting the Empire.” Cassian wipes at his nose, though the blood there is long dried. “My job was to figure out what _you_ are—why the Empire's taken such an interest in this little pocket of rebels lately.”

“What?” Jyn whispers the word.

“You're not as obvious about it out in the field, but what you are... what you can do...” Cassian grimaces. “Abilities like that aren't supposed to exist outside the Empire's pet projects anymore.”

The world seems to be tilting off-balance again, twisting underneath Jyn's feet. “I can't be the only one like me out there.”

“You're not. But you're the strongest I've heard of, and our spy ring is nothing to sneer at. And because of that, you're starting to attract attention.” Cassian comes up to the bars, close enough to touch. Jyn can read the truth in his eyes as well as in the Force. “If you stay here, there _will_ be spies who intend to kill you all. Or at least kill everyone you care about and drag you back to be the plaything of Vader or the Emperor himself.”

Jyn shakes her head, though she knows he isn't lying.

Cassian reaches a hand through the bars of his cell. “You know I'm telling the truth. You've seen it for yourself, in my memories. You can't stay here. You can't stay in one place, period.”

“We don't. _I_ don't.” But they have certain strongholds, bases that they return to again and again.

They have Jedha, the moon that has been her home for longer than any other.

“Whatever Saw does to me now, make sure he understands the threat there is.” Cassian watches her with pitiless eyes. “Make sure he understands the threat _you_ are.”

Jyn draws a shaking breath. “If you're trying to get me to let you out or help you in some way, you're doing a poor job of convincing me.”

Cassian smiles, and Jyn wonders how she ever thought his _other_ smile—his big, sweet, lovable smile—was the real thing. “I'm not trying to convince you to save me. You know what I am and what I'm capable of. But if you can save the _rebellion_ , or any small fragment of it... you want to do that. I saw it burning in you just as you saw the core of me. So save them, not-Jedi. Save them the way your predecessors couldn't and wouldn't.”

Jyn backs away from the cell, away from those burning eyes and the deep certainty she sees in them.

She doesn't want to understand Cassian Andor as well as she does, but she made the choices that led to this.

Now they both just have to live with them.

***

Jyn convinces Saw to let Cassian go.

It takes her a week of demanding, pleading, and pestering, but it's worth it to see the look on Cassian's face when she walks up to the cell with a key and opens it with a flourish.

Jyn smiles grimly at him as he makes his cautious way out of the cell. “Don't worry, we don't bite here. Not any more than we already have.”

“You're just going to... let me go?” Cassian looks around, clearly expecting a trap.

Jyn nods. “We're going to let you go, and you're going to go back to the Rebel Alliance, and you're going to use that spy network to get me what I need.”

Cassian's expression closes down, his signature in the Force becoming near-impossible to read beyond 'living being'.

Jyn rolls her eyes. “All we need is information. We need to find out about a scientist named Galen Erso.”

Understanding dawns in Cassian's eyes. “You haven't been able to locate your father.”

“Whatever they have him working on, it's top secret.” Jyn shrugs, as though her inability to learn anything about her father hasn't burned throughout the years. “If your sources can give us more information on that... maybe I can be useful to your people, too.”

Both Cassian's eyebrows arch up.

“You're right that I'm dangerous.” Jyn tries to keep her voice steady, but it still wobbles slightly. “And that I'm attracting attention that Saw's people don't need.” She's also saving them, but if she's putting more of a target on their _bases_ , on the places they retreat to in order to feel safe... there is no good decision, so she will follow where the Force has placed her, and see what comes of heeding Chirrut's advice.

“You would bring that same risk to the Rebel Alliance.” Cassian's eyes run up and down her body.

Jyn nods. “But your network is bigger than ours. More intricate. You can throw me around the galaxy more easily than Saw can. And I can be just as useful to you as I have been to him.”

Cassian's fingers tap against his leg, a steady rhythm. “This doesn't sound like Saw Gerrera. But he hasn't quite been acting like himself for three and a half years now.”

“Too much luck?” Jyn grins.

“Not bloodthirsty enough.” Cassian tilts his head. “Gerrera was vicious enough that the Rebel Alliance cut ties with him over morally questionable decisions. Except then... something happened. He started holding back more. Being more cautious and less determined to win no matter what the cost. Was that something you?”

Jyn shrugs. “I think it was more Baze and Chirrut. They came with me as a package deal after they helped with my training, and I'm a good enough asset—” Her voice only falters a little bit on the word. “That he doesn't want to risk losing me.”

Cassian nods, undoubtedly storing the information away to tell his superiors later.

“So?” Jyn crosses her arms over his chest. “Do we have a deal?”

Cassian sighs, lips twitching up into another likely-honest smile. “Should I assume the Guardians still come as a package set with you?”

“You should, and tell the Rebel Alliance they should be honored to have them.” Jyn takes a data chip from her pocket and slides it into Cassian's. “I look forward to seeing where this will go.”

Cassian inclines his head again, and he's not afraid of her at all. He's curious and bemused, but not afraid, not wary. “To a long and productive partnership, then.”

Jyn watches him leave, and it really is a shame that such a pretty body goes with such an aching soul.

Maybe she can fix that, though. One day, when her father is safe, when the Temple is restored, when Cassian has found a purpose for himself outside his war with the Empire...

It's a nice thing to dream about, at least, and Jyn allows herself to be distracted by the idea of a future even as she settles back into the rhythm of surviving the present.

***

Cassian doesn't hate her.

K-2SO does, with a virulence that Jyn didn't think droids could manage.

“You hurt him.” K-2 stares at Jyn with his glowing optics, his voice flat and low despite being mechanical.

“If it doesn't bother _him—_ ” Jyn has spent enough time around Cassian and K-2SO by this point to know that there's only one _him_ K-2 cares about being hurt. It had been painfully obvious during the first mission she worked with Cassian and K-2, and this is the end of the third. Jyn throws her hands in the air, wincing as her right one collides with the side of the shuttle that she and K-2 are emptying. “Why does it bother _you_?”

“Do you really _expect_ it to bother him?” K-2 continues to stare at her as though she were some lowly bug. “Cassian sees pain as his due. As payment to the Rebellion, proof that he's doing his job, that he's worth the time and effort they've put into training him. As payment to his past, to the things he's done that he isn't proud of. As payment to buy a future where children like him won't exist. _He_ wouldn't care if you chopped his hand off, except insofar as it would make his continued work difficult.”

“That's not...” Jyn hesitates, trying to decide what argument she wants to make. K-2 is being blunt and brutal, but there's a core of truth to his assessment. Jyn knows it, even though she hasn't known Cassian for long. He holds himself closed, but when he doesn't, when she sees what lurks in his mind, there is determination and guilt and grief that, yes, could add up to what K-2 is describing.

“He won't mention to you that his nightmares have increased two hundred and forty-six percent since your _interrogation_. He won't think it pertinent that he spends roughly an additional twenty-nine minutes a day staring off into space. He will consider any increased symptoms of stress and trauma that he experiences _personal_ failings rather than _something you did to him_.”

K-2SO moves closer with each sentence, until he is looming over Jyn, a threatening presence she can't read at all.

K-2 lowers his head, his optics so close to hers she swears she can feel heat. “He won't hate you, but I am quite capable of doing it for him. You are a danger, Jyn Erso, and I don't trust you.”

“I didn't _mean_ to. I just...” Jyn gropes for some reason that K-2 might accept, hating that she _wants_ him to understand. “He wasn't what he claimed to be. He _betrayed_ me, and I've been betrayed too often. I lost both my parents to betrayal. I've lost too many good friends to betrayal. Maybe... maybe I shouldn't have done what I did...” She tries not to think about those moments, about how strong she had felt during and how guilty she had felt after. “But I thought he was going to hurt my fa—my friends.”

K-2SO straightens. “You could have given him time to explain.”

“I wouldn't have believed him if I didn't see it for myself.” The words come out as bitter whispers, but Jyn knows they're true. She's been hurt too many times; she couldn't take the risk of being hurt again.

K-2SO's shoulders move in something that could almost have been a sigh. “It is dangerous to have power like yours in the hands of traumatized organics.”

“Yeah, well, there aren't too many people like me left out there, huh?” This time the bitterness is on full display.

“There are not.” K-2 considers her, and she _hates_ that she can't feel anything off him, can't get even a sliver of what's going through his mind no matter how hard she reaches. “Your kind are near extinction. Mine are enslaved.”

Jyn startles, blinking. She's never thought of the droids as _enslaved_. They're _built things_. Can a built thing really be called a _slave_?

“The universe is damaged. You and Cassian and all the rest are trying to staunch the bleeding. But I believe there are ways to do so that don't involve carving into each other so readily as you all do.” K-2 turns away. “This doesn't mean I forgive you, you know.”

“I didn't think it would.” Jyn sighs, her shoulders aching and head pounding—whether from the aftereffects of the mission or the conversation with K-2, Jyn can't decide.

“But I do _understand_ you better.” K-2 moves with disquieting grace towards the ramp off the shuttle. “And perhaps, if you save Cassian's life enough times, I will even begin to like you a little bit.”

“Wonderful. Just what I've always wanted.” Jyn can feel a smile tugging at her lips despite herself.

She's going to need to get used to droids, and she's going to need to get used to K-2 in particular, but all in all perhaps the greater rebellion isn't such a bad place to be.

***

Cassian gives her the name Bodhi Rook as a gift.

He does it while Baze and Chirrut and K-2 look on. They've become a little unit, a dangerous, unpredictable, extremely successful strike team that accomplishes the impossible.

Cassian doesn't always work with them. He is one of Draven's top operatives, and Jyn doesn't know where in the galaxy he is half the time. She finds herself more and more... irritated with that fact as time goes on. Cassian is good at his job, but the job is eating him alive, and he does _better_ when he's with her and her team.

Maybe not at covertly gathering information, but sometimes a few explosions are _necessary_.

“I know where Galen Erso is.” Cassian announces the information to the four of them, glancing at K-2 as he does.

K-2 inclines his head. “No one will overhear us.”

Cassian relaxes marginally. “He's being used for some top-secret weapon's research. Draven doesn't have any plans to try to extract him—says it's not clear whether he would come willingly or not, and we're trying to get more information on exactly what kind of weapons they're working on.”

“My father's alive.” Jyn feels something both sink and rise inside her. She's dreamt of this day, but she never imagined it would come. “We can rescue him.”

“Jyn—” Cassian raises a quieting hand. “It's been years. We don't know if he's still the man you knew. We don't know—”

“He'll come with me.” Jyn is on her feet, both hands clenched into fists. “He wouldn't _want_ to work on weapons. Not my papa. And if he _did_ try to fight, I'd _make_ him come.”

Silence descends on the room, only the quiet pulse of the air cycler making any noise.

Jyn forces her hands to relax. “I mean... I don't...”

Chirrut reaches out, his fingers resting light against her wrist. “Every child wants to be able to save their parents, just as every parent wants to be able to save their children. But we must consider the consequences.”

Jyn glances at K-2. His face is expressionless, as ever, but she hears crystal-clear the way he would whisper percentage of nightmares compared to normal at her for the first nine months of their acquaintance. She shivers. “If he's working with the Empire, working on weapons... he's incredible. He could make something extremely dangerous. And we can't leave that work in their hands alone.”

Cassian nods. “I concur. I also have a potential way to contact him, though it's... dangerous.”

“How?” Jyn forces herself to sit between Baze and Chirrut, reaching out to take both their hands in hers.

“There's a Jedhan man. His name is Bodhi Rook. He's a basic pilot, but he has access to the labs and the scientists. My source says he's friendly with Galen.” Cassian looks from Jyn to the Guardians. “If you convince him to come home, you can get information from him. Perhaps enough information to manage what we need to.”

Jyn looks from Chirrut to Baze.

Baze looks thoughtful, head tilted to one side. “If Rook doesn't take the bait... we'd have to kill him to keep the alarm from being sounded.”

Chirrut nods. “Thus potentially drawing attention to what we're doing.”

“Unless I...” Jyn swallows, the rest of the sentence left unsaid. “It's the start of a plan, at least. Thank you, Cassian.”

“You're welcome, Jyn.” Cassian stands, smiling awkwardly. “Happy birthday.”

Jyn hadn't even remembered it was her birthday, but she steps forward, gathering the spy into a hug and holding him tight just for a few seconds.

Cassian relaxes against her, and Jyn feels the satisfaction in his core, the certainty that he's doing something _right_ even if it's not something Draven would understand or accept.

“Sometimes you have to chase down hope.” Jyn allows her lips to trail across Cassian's cheek as she lets him go, the briefest kiss. “Otherwise you end up burning yourself down.”

He nods, giving her hands a squeeze. “Good luck.”

Jyn grins, turning to her Guardians. “We don't need luck. We've got the Force.”

Chirrut smiles; Baze groans.

And Jyn hopes, brightly and fiercely, that they're on the right path once more.

***

Jyn prowls Bodhi's house, acutely aware of her environment.

Bodhi's mother hadn't exactly been _eager_ to help them, but it had only taken Chirrut and Baze talking to her for an hour in old Jedhan for her to agree to help them. She had looked at Jyn with something like awe and something like pity, and Jyn hadn't been able to meet the woman's gaze.

Bodhi's mother loves him. It was obvious every time she talked about her son, and it's an emotion that exudes from the small touches the woman has scattered around her home.

She loves her son, and she's willing to risk him to hurt the Empire. To help Jyn. To make sure he hasn't become a monster like Krennic did, giving himself bit by bit and piece by piece to the nightmare that is slowly devouring them all.

The door opens and a tall, thin man rushes in. “Mother? I came as soon as I had leave. Let me take you to the—”

Bodhi stops, his eyes raking up and down Jyn's form. To his credit he doesn't bolt, though he's tempted to. “Who are you? Where's my mother?”

“She's safe. She's with my fathers.” Jyn draws a shuddering breath. It's a true enough way to speak of the Guardians. “She called you here because I asked her to. I need... I want...”

Bodhi's shoulders relax slightly, and he comes forward, away from the door. He's still afraid, but he's kind enough that compassion is beginning to override his fear. “What is it? Are you in trouble? Can I help?”

“I heard that you know Galen Erso.” The words come out raw, holding a decade of fear and love and rage. Jyn can feel her hands shaking, feel her power straining to reach for that well of emotion and rip what she needs from Bodhi's mind.

She can't. She _must not_. Cassian gave her this information, and she won't repay him by becoming the monster that he still sees in his nightmares.

Bodhi's eyes crinkle in confusion. “Galen? I know him, yes. I'm...” He trails off, his eyes searching his face again. When he speaks, his voice is a whisper. “Force preserve us. You're _Jyn_.”

“Yes.” She has to swallow before she can find more words. “I'm Jyn Erso.”

“But you said—my mother—” Bodhi takes a hasty step away from her.

“I've been raised by two Guardians of the Whills since the Empire stole my father away.” Jyn takes a step forward, unable to let him move further away from her. “Please. I was told you can help me get him back. I was told you're his friend.”

Bodhi runs his hands over his face, staring at her from between his fingers. “I think I'm going to sit down.”

He does just that, his long form dropping into a chair, still looking up at her as though she's a bomb that might go off at any moment.

Jyn drops to one knee, keeping herself almost on a level with Bodhi. “Please. _Please_. I'll give you anything I can. I'll...” Jyn has very little that she can give—herself, her skills that will paint a target on anyone who uses them, her ability to infiltrate places, her ability to kill people. What does she have that could convince this pilot to help her? “I'll do anything to get my father back.”

“I believe you.” Bodhi lowers his hands. “Because I know Galen would do anything to get back together with you again. I won't ask you to pay for access to your father. That would be cruel. And despite what you likely think of me, working for the Empire that stole your father away, I try not to be cruel.”

“I believe you.” Jyn's breath hitches in her throat, hope too painful to truly settle into. “You'll help me, then?”

“Take me to where the Guardians and my mother are. I want to make sure she's safe.” Bodhi draws a shuddering breath, a shiver running up and down his body. “And then... yes. I'll help you in whatever way I can.”

Jyn doesn't think. She just lunges forward, gathering the pilot into a hug, allowing a sliver of her joy to press against him.

He yelps, but his arms settle around her a moment later. Touch is something that Jedhans allow themselves readily enough.

“Thank you.” Jyn pulls back to study his face.

“Don't thank me until we've pulled this off.” He smiles, tense and nervous. “But you're welcome in advance.”

Taking his hand, Jyn leads him to where his mother and Baze and Chirrut are all talking around a pot of tea.

They have a jailbreak to plan, and she can't wait to get started.

***

It's surprisingly easy to get Galen Erso away from the Empire. She has Cassian's help, which makes it easier. He knows all about distractions and explosions and infiltration, and once they have Bodhi's inside information, it's easy enough to set up a situation.

Bodhi's mother is already safely smuggled away, hidden by the Rebellion. When the alarms go off, Bodhi hustles Galen into a shuttle, takes off, and flies him to their agreed-upon rendezvous point.

It takes Jyn and Cassian and K-2 a little bit longer to get there. They have to dodge Imperial weapon's fire, after all.

It doesn't take them nearly long enough to get there. Jyn doesn't know what she's going to say when she has her father back. She doesn't know who he's going to _be_. She knows that people change—she's felt it. She's watched Saw become more bitter and desperate; she's watched some of Baze's sharp grief-wounds fade.

What has the Empire done to her father in the decade and more since she saw him?

They arranged their rendezvous on a small moon. The atmosphere is breathable, though cold. They shouldn't have stopped, probably, but Jyn had begged. Once they bring her father back to the Rebellion, he will belong to another group. He will be a traitor to the Empire and a weapon for the Rebellion to use and so many things other than _her father_.

She wants him to be her father, first, even if just for a few minutes.

He's older than she expected. She knows that it's silly—of course he's aged. But there's so much _gray_ in his hair. There's so much more of a stoop to his shoulders.

Then he sees her, and he smiles, and she _recognizes_ him.

It's not just a physical recognition. She can hear _stardust_ , a silent whisper from him to her, a ripple through the Force, and it is as familiar as breathing.

She breaks into a run, gathering her father into a hug and just holding him tight.

They both cry. Not for long—they can't afford for long. But there has been _so much_ , and they are not the people they were when last they saw each other, and they need a little bit of time to let that sink down into their skin.

“Stardust.” Galen cups Jyn's face in his hands, looking into her eyes. “Look at what you've grown into. My little baby.”

“Not a baby. Haven't been for a long time.” Jyn sniffs, trying to gather her dignity back around her. “I missed you so much.”

“Oh, Jyn. I missed so much. You. Your mother. Choices.” He holds her tight again, her face buried in his shoulder—in an Imperial uniform, but she knows it's just a mask, just a _cage_ that they have trapped her father in. “I've done such awful things... I need to make it right. I've _tried_ to make it right, but it's... the weapon...”

He shudders, and Jyn finds herself shoved out to arm's length. Her sense of her father fades, his mind gathering itself, protecting itself, burying itself in duty. “I have to get to the rebellion. To Saw, or to whoever can actually stop this. The weapon they have... it's too terrible for words.”

Jyn brushes a hand across her face, forcing herself to follow her father's example. “Well, it's a good thing I'm with the Rebellion now. Let me take you to some people who can help.”

***

Everything goes wrong at Scarif.

Draven wouldn't act on her father's information. Jyn had to gather her own team—had to rely on Cassian and K-2 and Bodhi and her Guardians to get her where they needed to be. Things still would have been all right if not for Krennic.

He doesn't frighten her anymore. He's a monster, but he's the type of monster she recognizes. He's a man who has carved away everything kind, who now only wears compassion as a mask when he thinks it will get him something. He's a man who lives in bitterness and envy and possessiveness, and she hates him with every fiber of her being even before he shoots Cassian.

She grabs him without touching him, feeling the _thrum_ of the pounding ocean planet in her blood.

Krennic grabs at his throat and chest, trying and failing to find purchase on the power that is holding him upright. “Jyn—”

“You broke my family. Out of petty jealousy, out of stupid ambition— _you broke my family_.” Jyn jerks her hand, and Krennic's body slams against the metal wall of the tower Jyn had been trying to climb. “Now I get to break you.”

Krennic screams. It's an animal sound of denial and fear, and it just makes Jyn's heart pound faster. She can make him hurt. She can take him apart inch by inch, organ by organ, thought by thought. She can—

“Show me what you can do.”

Jyn jerks backward, almost losing her hold on Krennic's flailing body.

Krennic is a monster; the person speaking to her now... Jyn doesn't know if she has words for what he is. He is rage, like she knows intimately from Baze, but it is rage honed to such a sharp edge it can cut reality itself. He is grief, as she has seen in Saw, but it is grief that he turns not to defense and protection but to ruthless, everlasting destruction.

He is a pit into which she could fall, a hole that could swallow her whole.

“You're a barely-grown child, aren't you?”

Jyn finally recognizes the machine-assisted breath. This is _Darth Vader_. This is the Emperor's killing dog. And he is...

Not here.

Not in the room with her.

Not even on the surface of the _planet_.

But he sees her, and he can speak to her, and—

“Kill him.” The words are thrown down as much as an amusing suggestion as a gauntlet. “He has irked my master and I too many times to count. Let him be a part of your fall. Show me what you are capable of.”

“Jyn?” Cassian's hand touches her shoulder, and Jyn cries out.

Cassian is breathing heavily, his stolen imperial uniform starting to darken with blood. But he's _alive_. He's upright and he's alive.

“Can you—do you—” Jyn needs to speak. She focuses on the warmth of Cassian's hand. “Can you hear him? Vader?”

Cassian shakes his head, though she watches his pupils widen.

“He's here.” Jyn points with one trembling finger towards orbit. “He wants—he thinks—”

“We have to go, Jyn.” Cassian points up, as well—towards where the communications equipment is. “We have to finish our mission.”

Jyn nods, not trusting herself to speak.

She looks towards Krennic, still writhing.

She could take him apart. She could kill him slowly and painfully. She could be entertainment for Darth Vader.

Instead she opens her hand, and Krennic falls.

She makes sure it's a long fall, without any of the grates to catch him that saved Cassian's life. Long enough she doesn't hear when he finally hits the ground.

She keeps climbing with Cassian.

They have a job to do.

***

They lose so much.

Of those who landed on Scarif, only Jyn's small team makes it out. Cassian. Bodhi. Her Guardians. K-2's body is destroyed, but Cassian rescues what he says are the important parts—K-2's memory core, his personality chips. He can, probably, be rebuilt.

The other people who died on Scarif cannot.

The planet cannot.

The trust between Jyn and the Rebellion, tenuous at the best of times, will take a long time to heal.

“We did what needed to be done.” Chirrut pats her hand as they sit together, staring up at the starry night. “We've given people a chance to fight back. Sometimes that's all you can do.”

“On Scarif, I...” Jyn shudders. “There was a... I talked to...”

“I felt it, too.” Chirrut goes still, his sightless eyes rising to the sky. “There was something dark at Scarif.”

“He wanted...” Jyn shivers. “I killed Krennic. He wanted me to do it more... creatively.”

“He wants you to fall, as he fell.” Chirrut's hand tightens on the staff in his hands. “Darth Vader helped slaughter the children with Jedi potential. When the Republic fell, he was one of the people who dealt the killing blow.”

“I don't want to be a monster.” Jyn presses both her fists to her chest, where her heart is beating hard and fast. “I have to fight. I _have_ to. But I don't want to be a monster.”

“Sometimes it's _not_ fighting that makes one a monster. Sometimes it's looking at what's happening and deciding not to lift a finger as your neighbor suffers.” Chirrut places a hand on her shoulder. “Sometimes it's watching atrocities happen, and turning your eyes away. It's not always the fighters that are monsters, Jyn, not when there really are nightmares in the dark stealing away the future.”

Chirrut pulls, gently, gathering Jyn so that her head rests on his shoulder. “The Jedi have always been warriors as well as healers and peacekeepers. Because what we're looking to create—what the Force wants us to create—is not a world that can be created simply through apathy and acceptance.”

“I'm not a Jedi.”

“You're not.” Chirrut rests his head against hers. “You're something new. And I look forward to seeing exactly who you grow into.”

Then he's standing, holding out a hand to help her up. “Come on, now. There's tea and dinner to be had, and a team to keep together.”

Jyn smiles, allowing herself to be led back into the warmth of their temporary camp.

The dark may be filled with monsters, but she has her father back and her team at her side. For now, at least, it's enough to keep her going.


End file.
